SPN-Fanfiction - Wayward Brother
by spnfanfromeurope
Summary: Preseries. No smut, no spoilers, no ships. However warnings apply as there are general, non-detailed references to sex, some cursing and a belt spanking. Not set in my abusiveJohn-verse, and it doesn't get all dark and angsty. I got the title from a reader, who didn't want to be named, but you know, who you are and thank you for all your help. I own nothing, I borrow all my toys


Sam looked up from his trigonometry when he heard the rumble of his brother's car outside the motel room. It was the usual cheap, run down, no-star kind of motel, and he'd been basically the only one here, for the last few days, since it was off season.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Finally. He'd been worried about Dean.  
Sam had helped Dad with a banshee, while Dean had gone on some kind of a road trip. Dad had told Dean to check in daily, but after the first day they hadn't heard diddlysquat from him, so Dad had taken off in the same direction, bent on finding his wayward son, hopefully before something worse than Dad in a mood did. Not that Sam could think of many things worse than Dad when he got his dander up about things.

Dad had called regularly to ask whether Dean had shown up at the motel. But he hadn't and Sam hadn't been able to get through to him on the phone either. It helped a bit when he finally got a text, but since the text only said: "I'm busy, I'll be home soon," it didn't really make Sam feel all that more at ease.

The door flew open and his older brother swaggered in with all the confidence of a tomcat out on the prowl.  
"Heya, Sammy!"  
Dean threw his heavy duffel on the floor in the corner. It clanged when it landed, and the initial noise was followed by a series of metallic jangles from the contents.

Sam got up from his perch on the uncomfortable plastic chair and approached his brother with a frown.  
"Dean? Are you ok? Where have you been? Dad's been looking for you!"

"I'm fine Sammy. I'm better than fine. I'm awesome."  
Dean turned to his little brother with a big grin, that slowly faded.  
"And I know, I talked to him on the phone earlier… Listen, Sammy. Dad's about 10 minutes behind me, and…" Dean ran a hand through his hair, the last bit of the grin disappearing, "and … he's coming in hot."

Shrugging out of his coat, Dean dumped it on the chair, Sam had been using almost toppling the thing, when the weight of the leather coat landed on it, giving a suspiciously heavy clink of concealed weaponry.

"Shit, Dean, what'd ya do?"

Dean had wandered over to the nearest of the raggedy beds with their ugly pink and red patterned blankets. He turned, lifted his arms out to the sides and let himself fall backwards onto the bed.  
He grinned at Sam, then shifted his gaze to the ceiling, the shit-eating grin turning decidedly dopey as he answered.  
"I got laid. Repeatedly."

"What?!" Sam sputtered.

"I got laid. I met this girl... ooohhh… Sammy… it was awesome… I had just gone into this bar, you know, looking for a pretty waitress to flirt with or something...… you know… just for a general evening of "Look out girls, here comes trouble…" And there she was… dark hair, gorgeous… Sammy, she was a yoga teacher… it was the best weekend of my life…. We went to her loft, and we…"

Sam interrupted his brother's reminiscences with an exasperated sigh:  
"You went off with a girl, stopped answering your phone and just fell off the grid for three days? Really, Dean? For a girl? You scared the shit out of me and Dad."  
Sam sounded very much as if he would like to whack his brother's head a few times.

Dean lifted his head again:  
"Sammy… we really need to get you laid! Then you'll understand."  
"Dad's gonna kick your ass when he gets here."

Dean let his head flop back down. He lay there, arms and legs spread wide, looking like a starfish on a beach.

"Yeah, I know. I messed up a bit there, Sam. Forgot to charge my phone. But she was a yoga teacher! It was the bendiest weekend of my life. Listen… Just keep your mouth shut for once and keep your head down, will ya?"

Sam paced angrily back and forth in front of the bed.

"It's fucked up Dean, don't let him do that."  
"I was the one who messed up, Sam, just stay out of it, I don't want you caught in the crossfire."  
"Dean…"  
"It's ok, I'll be fine. Just let me get this over and done with, ok?"  
"But, you're an adult, Dean, you don't have to let him treat you like that. We can just go, drive away, before he gets here!"  
"What? No! We are a family. He is our Dad. I messed up. I worried him, and you. I disobeyed orders and I'll pay for that now, but then we can go back to normal and…"  
"Normal? Nothing about this is normal! We don't live normal, but we could, you and me. You could go to back to school, get your diploma."  
Dean made a derogatory noise of disapproval at that idea and Sam continued:  
"Ok, or... or…or work at a garage or something... and I, I could go to school, get a part time job. I just need to keep my grades up, take some more AP classes and I'm sure that I could get a full scholarship for college... "

They both heard the car door slam outside. Dean got up from the bed, walked around the end of it and brushed his shoulder against his brother's.  
"Don't worry Sammy. It's fine. Totally worth it."  
Dean winked lasciviously before he turned to face the door.

Dad came tearing through the door without even acknowledging Sam.

"Dean! What the hell, boy? You better tell me what is going on right now!"

"Met a chick, Dad. She was awesome, and I forgot to charge my phone. Sorry."  
Dean sounded casual and calm, but Sam noticed his hand convulsively opening and closing, a sure tell meaning that Dean was more worried than he would let on.  
Sam felt his temper rising and took a deep breath trying to keep a hold of his frustration with the whole situation.

John had gone closer to Dean and was growling now:  
"You up and disappeared on us for a girl? Please tell me you at least used protection."  
"Hey! I'm not an idiot, Dad. Don't want any stupid little Winchester bastards running around."  
Something flashed in John eyes and his voice got even more gravelly as he rumbled:  
"Mind your tongue, son. You are in enough trouble already. I trusted you enough to let you go on a road trip alone. You thank me by disobeying orders, disappearing without a word to anyone about where you are or why…"

John's hands went to his belt, but before he got any further, Sam had jumped in between his dad and his brother, pushing at his dad's chest, chin jutting out defiantly.  
"This is bullshit, Dad! You can't do that."

John pushed right back with both hands.

"I can't? Really? And that's for you to decide? Is it?"  
"Yeah! Since Dean won't tell you, I will! You can't keep doing that. Dean's a grown man! You are just scared, you won't be able to control him, control me, much longer!"  
John took Sam by the shirt, shaking him.  
"Stay out of it, Sam. It's between me and Dean."  
Sam opened his mouth, but never got to say the words, because at that moment Dean shoved his way in between them, knocking them apart.  
"Stop! Stop it. I said Stop. Both of you! Stop it."

Dean pushed against his dad's chest, using his back to shove Sam further backwards, while Sam and John were still staring at each other over his shoulder like a pair of male dogs squaring up for a fight.

Since it was obviously too late to talk Dad down a notch, which he'd been hoping to do before Sam decided to get involved, Dean gritted his teeth and did the only thing he could think of to redirect his father's aggression back at himself. He grabbed his dad's shirt in both fists, got into his face and yelled:  
"I said stop it, ya old fool!"

The world stopped.  
The sun paused on its way down the sky. The chirping of crickets disappeared. The wind died down, leaving the trees unmoving. A blue jay hung suspended, motionless, in the air.

After that breathless moment, John was the first to move.  
He grabbed Dean by the shirt, turned and shoved, hard, slamming his son up against a wall.  
Dean hadn't struggled at all as his father pushed him around. Now he hung slack in his father's hands, keeping his head down and slightly to the side, his entire body language screaming his surrender. John leaned in close and rumbled:  
"Old fool? Yeah, maybe. But it's disrespectful to say it right to my face!"  
"Yessir."

The lack of resistance seemed to work. The violence dropped from John's body, and his head hung for a moment. Then he let go of Dean and stepped back.  
"Let's just get this over and done with, it's been a hell of a long ass day."

Dean straightened up and looked over his dad's shoulder at Sam as his hands fell to his belt.  
He didn't say anything; he just raised an eyebrow: Do you really want to watch?  
Sam shook his head and raised his hands defensively as he backed away. No, no I don't. Then he turned and walked out of the front door to sit on the porch and pretend not to know what was going on inside.

When he was done getting out of his boots and jeans, Dean looked over at his dad, who stood silently, shoulders slumped, his old worn leather belt hanging doubled up from his hand.

The two men stood in silence for a breath or two.  
Dean's hand opened and closed a few times before he said, calmly:  
"So? Where do you want me, then?"  
John looked at the ugly green table, covered with Sam's schoolbooks, then turned and gestured to the bed, still rumpled from Dean's earlier flopping down on it. He sighed slowly.

"Look. Just… just lie down on the bed, ok?"

Dean obeyed wordlessly, climbing onto the bed to lie on his belly this time, head buried in his elbow and his hands twisted into the noisomely pinkish bedspread.  
It smelled of dust. And of teenage boy. Sam. He must have chosen the bed, Sam had been sleeping in.  
He was distracted from that thought by the belt landing across the back of his thighs for the first time.

Dad didn't yell or scold. He knew that Dean knew, why they where here, and it seemed to be enough for him, so he just got on with the job at hand.  
The belt moved relentlessly from the middle of Deans thighs, to the upper part of his ass. He bit into the sleeve of his shirt and tried to breathe through the pain. He felt his ankles cross and uncross, unable to stop the movement, shoulders stiff as his body struggled to encompass the agony and keep still.  
He had been in fights regularly almost as long as he could remember.  
He had been punched, kicked, bitten, stabbed and even shot. Fingers had been broken. Ribs.  
But it was something completely different to lie here, and just take the pain without fighting back. Without the adrenaline of a fight to boost you through. Offering yourself up for punishment.  
Dean felt the tears gather in his eyes. He did regret worrying his family this badly, but ooohhh… she had been special.

Dad paused the belt, and after the pause had extended longer than expected with John still not saying anything, Dean twisted a little to look over his shoulder, to see what was going on. Was it over yet?  
John stared at him, then asked. "How old are you, Dean?  
"20?" Dean said, confused at the question.  
"Yes. Exactly. 20. You are too old to be doing stupid teenage stuff like this. I'm going to give you 20 more with this belt, and I want you to count them out loud. Maybe at the end, you'll be able to remember to act your age."

"20!? I can't take 20 more! Dad, please!"

But John didn't answer, he just let the belt fall again. And Dean obeyed, again, counting out loud.  
"One, sir"  
"Two, uuummmff, sir…"  
"Aargh, three….sir"

After the tenth, the occasional "Please stop" was uttered and at eighteen, Dean twisted his upper body again, looking back at his Dad.  
"Please, no more?"  
But John just finished the task with two quick strokes, landing on top of each other right at the under-curve of Dean's ass, where he would have to sit on them, if he wanted to sit down.

John had been holding back enough that he had painted his son's ass a bright red without going so far as to leave bruises. That is, until those last two, which would definitely leave a pair of nasty welts – the only ones to do so.

John didn't wait for Dean to count those two out, the young man was busy wheezing on the bed, head burrowed into his arms.  
Instead, John sat down next to him and carted a hand through his son's sweaty hair. He didn't say anything, just left the hand there until he felt Dean's breathing go back to normal, then he ran the hand down to Dean's shoulder, patted it a few times and said:

"I better go get us some pizza or something for dinner."  
As he was walking away from the bed, treading his belt back on, he heard his boy say quietly:  
"Dad?"  
John stopped but didn't turn around.  
"Can you get some apple-pie too?"  
"Yeah. I'll see if they have some."

He shook his head as he opened the door. The resilience of youth. He himself wasn't sure his heart would beat normally again for a few days, the fear and worry of not being able to find his oldest making him feel old, tired and stretched out thin like a rubber-band being used to play cat's cradle.

Sam was outside on the porch step. At the sound of the door, he jumped right up and glared angrily at his dad.  
John, too tired to get into another argument with his volatile youngest, just waved a hand towards the door.  
"Go on. Go in and see for yourself that I didn't kill your brother."

John got into the car, his car door slamming in unison with the door of the motel room.  
He leaned his head back against the headrest for a moment before he turned the key.  
Hunting monsters was one thing, but those boy, they would be the death of him.

Dean, who had been chasing skirts since the day, he hit those stupid teen years and seemed to forget everything around him whenever a pretty girl flashed her dimples in his direction – which they did. A lot.

And his youngest, who was so awesomely intelligent, but who seemed to have spent the last two years in a steadily increasing soup of teenage testosterone poisoning, always ready to butt heads with his dad over everything and anything.

Dean, mostly, obeyed without question, as long as he wasn't chasing after a skirt, at least, while on the other hand Sam not only stepped up to every line John drew, but stepped right over it and onto his old man's feet.  
Damn kids.  
John finally put his seat-belt on and drove off in search of pizza. And pie...and a six pack of beer, because he, at least, damn well deserved a beer tonight.

Sam walked into the motel-room and stopped abruptly, feeling his heart kick once, before it settled back down.  
Dean was on his stomach on Sam's bed, head turned to the side, eyes closed.  
He was breathing slowly, as if he was asleep.  
His left leg was under the blankets, but half his ass and all of his right leg was hanging out, and as Sam moved stealthily closer, he could see the redness spreading down his brother's upper thigh. Sam crouched down next to the bed. He ground his teeth together at the sight of the welts peeking out from under Dean's threadbare briefs.

Unsure about what to do, Sam whispered gently.  
"I'm sorry, Dean. Are you ok?"

Dean's eyes opened. They were red-rimmed, and he looked utterly exhausted, but when Sam laid a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder, Dean grinned and answered.  
"Yoga teacher, Sammy. Totally worth it."

His eyes started to close, but then reopened and solemnly looked into Sam's:  
"But next time. Please don't try to help, ok?"

The green eyes slid shut, and Sam sat back on his heels, shaking his head in a mixture of admiration and exasperation.


End file.
